


Pine Grove Motel

by trulymadlylarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adorable Fluff, Anal, Blowjobs, Bottom Harry, Homelessness, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Prostitution, Smut, Top Louis, Violence, homophobia because this is set in the 1980s in wyoming, jay passes away in the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulymadlylarry/pseuds/trulymadlylarry
Summary: For Louis, the summer of 1982 was supposed to be filled with traveling, partying, and working part-time for his mother in anticipation of college. Instead, his life comes to a halt when his mom becomes fatally ill and leaves him their family-owned motel in her will. Now, at twenty-one years old, he finds himself stuck in the small town of Ashborne, Wyoming, struggling to make ends meet and fulfill his mother's wishes.For Harry, the summer of 1982 was supposed to be made of memories with friends, romance, and celebration of his high school graduation. However, his plans take a turn when his parents discover his secret gay lifestyle and force him to move out, leaving him homeless.Desperate to find somewhere to live, Harry stumbles across no other than Pine Grove Motel.





	1. part i.

**Author's Note:**

> While reading this story, please keep in mind that this takes place in a conservative area of the southwestern United States in the early 1980's. There will be key elements of religion, homelessness, homophobia, and discussions of sensitive topics like conversion therapies. Please read carefully. x

Soil clings to the skin beneath Louis's fingernails as he plucks weeds from the garden, tossing them into a plastic bucket at his side. The flowers are vibrant and perky, adding bursts of color to the dull exterior of Pine Grove Motel. The heat beats down on his bare back while he works tirelessly in the blistering sun. It's an abnormally hot day in early spring, and the sky is a clean slate of blue without a single cloud in sight.

In the distance, tall peaks stretch up from the ground and sculpt the horizon, capped with white snow. A seemingly endless stretch of pine trees fill the land behind the motel and continue up the green edges of the mountains. A small flock of black birds fly above Louis's head and disappear into the dense forest nearby.

Louis wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He stands up from the ground, making his joints crack audibly, before brushing the dirt off his knees. He empties the bucket of weeds in the dumpster behind the motel before circling around to the front office. The neon "vacancy" sign flickers in the window, and the door is cracked open to let the faint breeze filter into the small room.

"Got all the weeds pulled," Louis announces.

Louis's mother, Jay, smiles weakly behind the front counter. She has her elbow resting on the smooth surface, hand pressed to her cheek to support the weight of her face. The desk is covered in scattered paperwork and uncapped pens, and an old lamp shines yellow light on the documents.

"Thanks, darling," Jay says, voice hoarse. She clears her throat before cupping her coffee mug with both hands, slowly raising it to her lips. Her throat bobs visibly as she swallows the warm liquid.

"Are you feelin' alright?" Louis asks curiously, brow furrowed. "You look like shit."

"You're so flattering," Jay says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"I just mean you look sick, Mom."

"I just didn't sleep well last night— had stomach pains all night. Think I must've eaten somethin' rotten."

Louis can see the exhaustion on her face. The dark circles beneath her eyes are swollen and prominent, making her appear much older than she actually is.

"You should go home and rest," Louis assures. He grabs his Queen concert tour t-shirt from behind the counter and slips it over his head, smoothing his hands down the front to flatten the wrinkles.

"No, baby, your shift doesn't start until six—"

"I got it covered," Louis promises, resting his hand on the small of her back. He gives her a reassuring smile before pecking her cheek. "Go home and sleep."

Jay grins tiredly before cupping her son's face lovingly. "You're my hero."

"I know," Louis says cheekily.

When she leaves, the office falls quiet. The only sound is the analog clock ticking quietly behind him. Louis has never particularly enjoyed being alone in this room, especially at night during his shifts. It's often eerily silent.

The office is connected to the motel, which is a two-story building in the heart of Ashborne, Wyoming. Most of their residents are cross-country truckers who stop for refuge on route to their destination. They offer clean, comfortable rooms at reasonable rates with complementary coffee in the mornings.

Pine Grove Motel was founded by Jay's parents, Louis's grandparents, in the late 1930's. They passed away in a car accident when Louis was a little boy, leaving Jay to inherit the business. After their deaths, she dedicated her entire life to the motel.

Louis has fond childhood memories of this place. He remembers practically growing up here and spending his days running around the property and causing mischief to all the customers. He's pretty sure he spent more time at the motel than in their actual house, which is conveniently located just half a mile down the road.

Now, at the age of twenty-one, Louis is temporarily living in an apartment downtown while he works for his mom to save up money for college. When the fall semester comes around again in September, he'll return to Boulder, Colorado to finish up his geology degree. Despite how much he loves college, he always looks forward to coming home in the summers to spend time with his mother.

Louis has always had a strong bond with his mother. For as long as he can remember, it's just been the two of them. Jay became pregnant with him when she was twenty years old, and his father never had any desire to be involved in his life. Regardless, she gave him more love as a single mother than two parents ever could.

Sighing, Louis settles in the chair behind the front desk. The gentle wind blowing through the cracked door feels like pure relief on Louis's sunburned face. He grabs one of his favorite Stephen King books from the small library he keeps beneath the counter. He leans back in the chair and opens the book with dirt-covered hands, smudging the pages.

As usual, he doesn't anticipate seeing any customers anytime soon.

✽ ✽✽

The next day, Jay still feels sick. She initially insists on coming back to work, but Louis convinces her to stay home and rest. He tells her he'll handle all the demands at the motel. She hasn't been eating or sleeping, and her stomach pains have gotten worse. He tells her she needs to relax and try to feel better.

After two days, the pain in her stomach intensifies. It's gotten to the point where she can barely walk. Louis calls Jay's sister, Louis's aunt Katherine, and asks her to take his mother to the doctor's office. She agrees, and Louis spends the rest of the afternoon working at the motel, hoping the doctors can give them an answer.

Unfortunately, it's not the answer he was expecting.

Around five o'clock, the office phone rings. Louis quickly sets down the crossword puzzle he was filling in and answers the call.

"Pine Grove Motel, this is Louis speaking. How can I help you?"

He hears a quiet sigh. "It's me."

"Oh, hey, Aunt Katherine. Are you still at the doctor's office?"

There's a pause. "They... transferred us to a hospital in Cheyenne."

Louis falters, toying with the coiled phone cord around his finger. "What?"

"You need to come here. Now."

"That's nearly an hour drive, and I'm the only person working at the motel right now," Louis hesitates.

"Then close the motel for the rest of the evening, Lou," Katherine insists, voice urgent. "Just trust me when I tell you that you need to get here as soon as possible."

After she hangs up, Louis can feel his heart beating heavily in his chest. He quickly leaves the office, making sure to flip the sign on the door to "closed." He climbs into his 1974 Pontiac Firebird and starts the engine.

He merges onto the nearest highway and starts speeding towards Cheyenne, disappearing into the mountains and the setting sun.

✽  ✽ ✽

The lead doctor of oncology at Cheyenne Regional Medical Center diagnoses Jay with stage four pancreatic cancer. The prognosis isn't optimistic— they predict she'll have a maximum of three months left to live with proper care and treatment. It's already spread to her other vital organs and blood vessels.

Louis breaks down in tears when he hears the news. He clings to her bedside and cries into her chest like he did when he was a child. She just holds him and combs through his hair and tells him everything will be okay, even though they both know it won't be.

Louis temporarily closes down the motel while she's at the hospital, despite Jay's wishes, and stays at a friend's house in Cheyenne nearby. He visits her at the hospital every day. He stays with her during visiting hours and tries to distract her from the pain. He brings her favorite foods,  _Grease_  on VHS, and get well cards from all her friends back in Ashborne.

Sadly, it only takes three weeks before her health declines drastically, and she takes her last breath on April 23, 1982 with her son holding her hand.

✽  ✽ ✽

To Louis's surprise, after a difficult week of burial arrangements and mourning, his Aunt Katherine visits him after the funeral.

When she knocks on the front door of his apartment in Ashborne, Louis opens it wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt that's covered in stains. His eyes are red and puffy from crying so much, although dehydration has prevented him from doing so lately. Over the past month, he's lost a significant amount of weight, and Katherine can notice the hallows of his cheeks and the prominence of his collarbones.

"Hi," Katherine says cautiously, holding a manila folder in her hands. Louis pretends he doesn't notice the way her eyes apprehensively scan his body from head-to-toe.

Louis and his aunt Katherine have always had a  fairly distant relationship. She's practically the complete opposite of his carefree mother— strict, humorless, and not too fond of showing emotions. She works in the city as a psychologist and only visits them during holidays or when a family member dies, which is unfortunately far too often.

"What are you doing here?" Louis asks groggily, running his fingers through his messy hair.

"Can I come inside?" she asks, ignoring his question.

Louis just nods and steps aside, letting her in. His apartment is a complete mess. Ever since Jay became ill, he hasn't had much time to clean. Katherine ignores the empty beer bottles and candy wrappers on the floor as she carefully maneuvers towards the couch. Louis sits in the chair across from her, separated by the coffee table.

"How are you holding up?" Katherine asks delicately, folding her hands in her lap.

Louis blinks in silence for a few seconds. "Well, I just watched my Mom's casket get buried in the ground. I haven't showered in three days. My car has a flat tire. The motel has been shut down for over a month now, which means I have no income, so I probably won't be able to go back to college in the fall," he rambles, tiredly rubbing the scruff on his chin. "So, yeah. I'm not doing too great."

Katherine frowns sympathetically. "Lou—"

"Stop," Louis interrupts, holding up his hand. "Don't try to make me feel better, Katherine. I don't need to hear any of those cliche quotes that you use on your psychiatric patients."

His aunt falls quiet for a moment. "I understand that you're angry—"

"No, I don't think you do. I don't think anyone does. I just lost my mother."

"And I lost my sister!" Katherine rebuttals, voice cracking.

Louis recoils in his chair, sinking back into the seat. He distractedly picks at his nails while Katherine sighs and brushes a few stray pieces of auburn hair behind her ear. She takes a deep breath before setting the manila folder on the coffee table.

"When Jay found out she was dying, she wrote a will," Katherine begins slowly, opening the folder. She grabs a piece of paper and turns it towards Louis. "You need to read this."

Louis's jaw tightens. He leans forward, sweaty palms clamped on the armrests, and examines the document.

_I, Johannah Tomlinson, residing at 837 Mountainside Drive, Ashborne, Wyoming, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me._

_I appoint my sister, Katherine Noble, as my personal representative to administer the Will, and ask that she be permitted to serve without Court supervision and without posting bond._

_I bequest that all of my jewelry, including my parents' wedding rings, to be distributed to Katherine Noble._

_I hereby give the remaining distribution of my Estate to my son, Louis Tomlinson, including my house, car, monetary values, and Pine Grove Motel._

Louis reads over the document three times before setting it down. He looks up at Katherine with confusion. 

"This can't be right," Louis says, shaking his head with disbelief. 

He's twenty-one years old. He's in his junior year of college. He knows nothing about business or finances or marketing. There's no possible way he can do this on his own. 

Katherine simply reaches into her purse and pulls out a set of keys. She carefully places them into Louis's palm and closes his fingers around them, giving him a reassuring smile.

"You're the new owner of Pine Grove Motel."


	2. part ii.

Bright sunlight filters through the stained glass windows of the church, casting shadows of vibrant colors on the wooden pews. The air smells like a mixture of dusty Bible pages and burning candle wax. Harry can feel the child behind him kicking the back of his seat repeatedly. He has to resist the urge to turn around and cause a scene in the middle of the pastor's reading.

This Sunday, of course, happens to fall on February 14th: Valentine's Day. The pastor has decided to give a sermon on love and starts with reading a passage from Corinthians. Harry pretends to read along in his Bible while his parents sit beside him. He watches his mother's lips move subtly around each word as pastor reads the quote, mouthing it from memory.

"If I speak in the tongues of men or angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing," Pastor David reads aloud, moving his finger to emphasize particular words.

His round, wire-rimmed glasses are perched at the end of his wrinkled nose as he stands behind the pulpit. He steps around to the front and looks out towards the congregation, forehead creased with concentration. Everything about his body is lanky and thin, from his bony fingers to his hallowed cheeks.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes,  _always_ perseveres," he continues, using energetic hand gestures to keep the crowd's attention.

"Amen," Harry's mother whispers next to him, nodding along.

Pastor David closes his red leather-bound Bible before licking his pale, cracked lips to begin his discussion. Harry shuts his Bible as well and tucks it into the pocket on the backside of the pew. He glances out the window and watches some dead brown leaves tumble through the parking lot in the breeze outside.

"Love is a gift from God that we must cherish and never take for granted," the pastor begins, eliciting a few quiet hums of agreement from the congregation. "The sacred connection between a man and a woman is a blessing from God, and if we choose to disrespect that gift, we are disrespecting Him as well. Love is not always easy, but in a word full of sinners and temptations, we must resist and remember on this day, and  _all_ days, why love is so important."

Harry sighs quietly and continues staring out the window. He watches a squirrel scurry quickly up a tree and perch on a branch, snacking on an acorn. He presses his palm against his cheek and rests his elbow on the edge of the pew, allowing himself to relax. He drowns out the pastor's voice and the annoying thumping on the back of his seat.

When the service finally ends, Harry watches the rest of the congregation slowly trickle out of the church. Harry's family is always the last to leave every Sunday. His parents always insist on staying afterwards to have long, tiring discussions with Pastor David, who also happens to be Harry's father's best friend.

"I'll be waiting in the car," Harry mutters, standing up.

Harry's mother, Judith, grabs his wrist harshly. "Don't be rude."

Harry stares at her, meeting her icy eyes. He wants to protest, but the expression on her face is stern and relentless. He deflates and follows his parents to the front of the church, where Pastor David is already thumbing through his Bible and marking pages for next week's service.

"Hey, Dave," Harry's father greets, shaking his hand and smiling.

He's always been informal with the pastor— they've been friends ever since they were kids. Harry's known the pastor's family for as long as he can remember. He basically grew up alongside Pastor David's family, including his youngest son, Craig.

Craig is currently sitting in the front pew with a book in his hands, blond curls falling in front of his face. In the midday sunlight, his skin almost looks golden, and the freckles on his nose look like paint splatters. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a navy blue button-up shirt, complete with a pair of dirty white converse. He's never been a follower of proper church attire— or anything related to church, really.

Harry sits next to him while his parents continue chatting with the pastor. At first, Craig doesn't notice him, so Harry taps his knee. He looks up and smiles softly.

"Hey, Harry," Craig says happily, sitting up straight.

"Getting your daily dosage of Bible bullshit?" Harry asks quietly, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the book in his hands.

Craig chuckles and closes the book, revealing the cover. It's  _Flowers for Algernon_. The binding is weathered and faded, borrowed from the local library.

"Science fiction," Harry notes, nodding slowly. He glances nervously over at Craig's father, who's still in a deep conversation with Harry's parents. "Surprised your dad even lets you read that."

Craig shrugs. "He probably thinks it was written by the devil himself."

Harry snorts. "Probably."

Craig smiles and nudges his shoulder excitedly. "So I hear you're graduating from high school in the spring, right?"

Harry nods slowly. "Yeah."

"That's great, Harry! I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks."

"I'm kinda jealous, actually. Wish I could do the whole graduation ceremony thing," Craig admits, awkwardly toying with his fingers.

Despite being almost the same age as Harry, Craig is home-schooled. His father didn't want him going to public school and having his mind infested with impure thoughts— those were pastor David's own words. Harry thinks if Craig went to Creighton High School, they'd be best friends. Unfortunately, he only gets to see him briefly every Sunday, but they get along well.

Craig has never had many friends, and Harry has always pitied him for that. It's kind of difficult making friends in a small town in rural Utah when you're both home-schooled  _and_ the pastor's son. He's a sweet boy, though, and incredibly smart. Harry has sort of had a crush on him since they were twelve years old.

"Listen, my friends and I are going out for milkshakes tonight at Mickey's Diner to celebrate being single on Valentine's Day. Would you like to come with?"

Craig's eyes widen. "Oh, no, I wouldn't want to intrude—"

"You wouldn't be intruding. It's just me and two of my friends."

Craig purses his lips hesitantly. "I dunno..."

Harry touches his arm reassuringly. "I  _want_ you to come, Craig."

The blond boy bites his lip. "I mean, I'd have to ask my dad for permission," he says quietly. "He's still pissed after I snuck out of the house with that girl last month."

Harry nods. He sometimes forgets that Craig's father is basically the strictest, blandest, most boring human being on the face of the planet.

"Yeah, right. Of course."

"But I— I'll call you and let you know, okay?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Harry says, standing up from the pew. His parents are finishing up their conversation with the pastor, and Harry notices his mother walking towards him. He clasps his hand on Craig's shoulder and squeezes it softly. "I'll see you around."

Craig waves shyly as Judith wraps an arm around her son's waist, guiding him out of the church.

✽ ✽✽

Harry is working on homework in the dining room, sketching shapes in his geometry notebook, when Craig finally calls him. The loud ring echoes throughout the entire house. Harry quickly walks into the kitchen and grabs the phone from its mount on the wall. He lifts it to his ear and leans against the nearest wall, back pressed against the floral wallpaper.

"Hello?" Harry greets, toying with the coiled wire around his finger.

"Hey," Craig answers. "So, uh. I talked to my dad."

"And?" Harry presses.

"He said I can come with tonight, if the invitation is still open."

Harry's stomach flutters. "Yeah, of course. I'll pick you up at six?"

"Sure," Craig mutters quietly. There's a brief pause. "Thank you for asking me to come with, Harry. I don't— I don't have a lot of friends in Creighton, being the pastor's son and all."

Harry's heart sinks a little. "You don't have to thank me for being your friend. We've been friends since we were infants."

"Yeah," Craig says softly. He's quiet for a few seconds, and Harry can hear him rustling with the phone. "I'll see you soon, then?"

Harry glances at the antique clock on the wall. It's currently 4:47 in the afternoon. The silver hands are slowly inching forward.

"Yeah, definitely. Bye."

He can practically hear Craig smiling through the phone. "Bye, Harry."

Harry hangs up the phone before walking across the house to his bedroom. He changes into a pair of weathered jeans and a striped button-up shirt and spends several minutes in front of a mirror, fixing his unruly hair. He changes his shirt multiple times before finally deciding on a blue sweater with yellow cuffs around the wrists.

When it's time to pick up Craig, he slips on his favorite pair of Adidas sneakers and bids his mother goodbye. He kisses her cheek before grabbing his keys off the hook in the foyer.

Judith smiles at her son fondly. "I'm really glad you're taking Craig with you tonight. He's a good kid."

Harry knows she's only saying that because he's the pastor's son. She's always insisted that Harry becomes more religious and spends more time with people from church. But, truth be told, the only reason he still even goes to church every Sunday is to see Craig. He's never felt the same connection to God as his parents.

"I'll be back before curfew," Harry promises, walking out the front door.

He steps off the wooden porch and walks over to his car: a green 1968 Plymouth Satellite. He starts the engine and rolls down the window slightly, allowing crisp air to filter inside. He turns on the radio and lets the music play loudly through the speakers, making the car's floorboards shake.

He backs out of their gravel driveway and starts driving down the main dirt road. None of the streets in Creighton are paved. Dust clouds the air behind him as he drives over the hilly roads, heading towards Craig's house. He lives on a farm nearby, his house tucked behind endless rows of wheat. He has several older siblings, but they've all moved out of town by now. They were all smart enough to escape out of Creighton when given the opportunity. 

The pastor's home is a big farmhouse, complete with yellow siding and a large front porch. Harry brakes at the end of the driveway, but before he can even put his car in park, Craig comes bounding out of the front door with a big smile on his face. He immediately hops into the passenger's seat and buckles his seat belt.

"Hey," Harry greets a little breathlessly.

Craig is wearing a bright patterned shirt with the first two buttons undone, revealing his pale skin underneath. His jeans are rolled up at the bottoms to expose his ankles. The white sneakers on his feet are covered in mud, and the shoelaces are frayed at the ends. When he turns to look at Harry, his blond hair bounces a little.

"Ready to go?" he asks eagerly.

Harry laughs softly at his excitement. "Yeah," he says, slowly taking his foot off the brake. He pulls out of his driveway and starts driving towards the diner downtown.

"You'll love my friends from school— Maria and Eric. They're really nice."

"I don't recognize their names. Do they go to our church?"

Harry clears his throat uncomfortably. "No. Eric is Jewish, and Maria's family isn't religious."

Craig nods. "Oh, okay."

"Is that... is that okay?"

Craig's eyes widen. "What? Of course it's okay, Harry. You know me— I'm not the biggest fan of religion in the first place... especially when it involves my dad."

"Right," Harry says, nodding in agreement. His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly.

When they arrive at Mickey's Diner, Harry parks his car in the lot alongside Eric and Maria's cars. It's a small restaurant in the heart of Creighton. The building is made of bright pink bricks that are the same color as Pepto-Bismol. A neon "open" sign flashes in one of the large windows.

Craig follows timidly behind Harry as he guides them inside. Eric and Maria are sitting in their favorite booth, already drinking soda from tall glasses. They both smile at Harry and Craig when they see them walk through the door, the bell chiming above them.

"Hey," Harry says, sliding into the booth. Craig sits next to him. "These are my friends— Eric and Maria. I met Eric on my middle school basketball team, and Maria and I met in English class during our sophomore year."

Maria's dark hair cascades in waves to her shoulders, parted right down the middle. Her caramel skin is dewy and smooth, and her full lips are covered in a thin layer of gloss. Her fingers are curled around her soda glass, and her short, bitten nails are sloppily painted neon blue.

Craig can tell Eric is tall even with them sitting down. His shoulders are broad, and his arms are sculpted with muscles. He's wearing a leather varsity jacket with the school's emblem embroidered on the sleeve. His curly hair is tucked under a baseball cap, and he has a small faded scar on the bridge of his nose.

Craig raises an eyebrow at Harry. "You played basketball?"

"Briefly," Harry confesses, eliciting a humorous snort from Eric.

"He was the  _worst_ on the team. Only lasted a few weeks," Eric chuckles, shaking his head fondly. "I kind of felt sorry for him, so I purposefully did bad so we could sit on the bench together during games."

Harry rolls his eyes, blushing faintly. "I wasn't  _that_ bad."

"You have zero coordination."

"Rude," Harry scoffs, playfully punching his shoulder across the table.

Eric laughs and swats his hand away before returning his attention to Craig. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you, man. Any friend of Harry's is a friend of ours," he reassures.

"So, you two know each other from church?" Maria interjects, amber eyes flickering between the two of them.

Craig shrugs. "Kind of. Our dads are best friends, so we've basically known each other since birth."

"Your dad is the pastor, right?" Maria asks.

"Yeah."

"What's that like?" she asks, brows furrowed. She takes a slow, steady sip from her soda and leans forward with curiosity.

"It's... a little suffocating at times," he admits, shoulders bobbing around a silent laugh. "My dad just kinda brings me everywhere to show me off as his trophy son. Seeing Harry is pretty much the only good aspect of going to church every Sunday."

He's joking—  _totally_ joking — but Harry's heart still skips a beat. He wishes he could tell Craig that he's had a stupid crush on him since they were kids. He was the person who made Harry realize he's gay. Of course, he's never told a single person that secret— not even Maria, who would totally be okay with it. She's from San Francisco and as liberal as they come. But Harry can't risk his secret getting out to the public, especially to his parents. He can't even imagine how they'd react.

"That's a drag," Maria says, tilting her head sympathetically.

Craig just shrugs. "It's alright."

"You're home-schooled, right?" Eric asks.

"Yeah. I've never actually been to public school."

Maria chuckles. "You're not missing out on much," she insists. "Creighton High is pretty much like prison."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to her. She came here during freshmen year from San Francisco. She had to leave her big, fancy private school in California because her mom's job relocated to Salt Lake City."

"She's still bitter about it," Harry cuts in.

"I am  _not_ ," Maria argues, lips curling into a playful snarl. "I just think this place is so close-minded and religious compared to California... no offence." She looks at Craig pointedly.

He raises his hands in defense. "None taken. I'm not really into all that Bible nonsense, anyway."

"Really? That's surprising, coming from the pastor's son," Eric says.

Craig bites his lip. "Yeah. I mean, I do believe in God, but I don't think He just goes around damning people because they don't follow His rules. I think it's all just a load of shit."

Harry hums in agreement. "Amen to that," he jokes.

Shortly after, they all order milkshakes. Eric gets mint chocolate, Maria gets strawberry, Harry picks double chocolate fudge, and Craig orders cookies and cream. They also get a large basket of french fries to share.

When their waitress drops off their milkshakes, Harry rips off the tip of his straw wrapper before pressing it to his lips and shooting it out towards Craig. It hits his face and ricochets onto the table. Craig giggles, balls up the wrapper, and throws it back at Harry's cheek. This soon turns into a straw wrapper war, and somehow Maria and Eric end up getting involved, too.

Afterwards, they sip their milkshakes while talking and laughing well into nightfall. They talk about everything, from college plans to dating to heated debates over the best ice cream flavor. Harry has never seen Craig this happy and carefree before, and he wonders if the shy persona he puts on every Sunday is just a facade to please his father.

Before Harry's curfew, which is nine o'clock on school nights, they bid their farewells. Harry tells Maria and Eric that he'll see them tomorrow at Creighton High, and Craig tells them how nice it was to meet them. They both walk out to Harry's car and climb inside.

Since nightfall, the temperature has dropped significantly. Harry quickly turns on the heaters and tries to warm up the car. The hot air fogs up the windshield momentarily.

As they drive away from the diner, Craig sets his elbow on the center console and rests his chin on his hand. There's a silly, sleepy smile on his pink lips.

"That was really fun," he says quietly, barely audible over the radio. "Thank you for inviting me."

"I told you to stop thanking me. We're friends."

Craig bites the inside of his cheek. "I like Eric and Maria. They seem really great," he exhales. "It must be nice."

"What must be nice?"

"Being... I dunno. A normal kid."

Harry scoffs. "I don't think I'm  _normal_ , really."

"You know what I mean," Craig drawls. "I'm only known around Creighton as the pastor's son. That's all I'll ever be. I never really got to have a real childhood like yours."

Harry frowns. "I suppose so."

The yellow headlights illuminate the road in front of them. In the distance, the sun is slowly sinking into the horizon and painting the sky with shades of pink and purple. The clouds look like cotton candy.

Harry pulls into Craig's driveway and parks his car. He expects Craig to give him and energetic farewell and be on his merry way, but instead, he just sits in silence. He's staring at his hands while fiddling with his fingers, mind elsewhere.

"Hey," Harry says cautiously, lightly touching his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Craig looks at him sharply. "Yeah." His breath is unsteady.

"Alright," Harry murmurs. "I'll see you next Sunday, then?"

Craig's throat bobs up and down, and he turns to face Harry. His gaze is raking over Harry's entire body slowly and cautiously, and when his hands move towards him, he looks surprised by his own movements. His palm caresses the side of Harry's neck before slowly moving up to his jawline, thumb brushing over his soft skin.

"I want to kiss you," Craig says quietly.

Harry's chest constricts, as if a snake has coiled itself around his body. He blinks a few times and stares at him emotionlessly. A block of ice freezes in his throat. 

"Can I kiss you?" Craig presses on, inching forward in his seat.

Harry can't say anything. All coherent thoughts have left his brain, and before he can speak, he feels Craig's soft lips colliding with his. The kiss is short and sweet, and all he can feel is the warmth of Craig's lips against his own and his hands caressing his neck, bringing them close together.

When Craig finally pulls back, his pupils are as round and wide as the moon. The soft glow of sunset tints his skin a rosy color. He stares at Harry for a short moment, lips parted slightly.

"I'm sorry," Craig mutters, shaking his head. "I don't know why I did that."

He turns to grab the door handle, but Harry clamps his hand on his wrist. "Wait, no. Stop."

Craig pinches his eyes shut. Harry can see tears of regret clumping to his lashes.

"I shouldn't have—"

Harry interrupts him with another kiss, this time more intense. He combs his fingers through his blond hair and feels sparks firing in his brain. It's never felt like this when he kisses girls. It's electric and warm, and his lips taste like vanilla Chapstick.

When they finally separate, tense air arises between them. They both stare at each other in stunned silence, neither of them fully believing what just happened. A soft smile slowly grows on Craig's lips.

"I should go. It's getting late," he hums, sinking back into his seat.

Harry nods in agreement. "Yeah. I— let's do this again something, okay?"

"Definitely," Craig agrees, stepping out of the car.

"Have a good night. I'll see you next Sunday."

"Next Sunday," Craig echoes before winking and shutting the door.

✽ ✽ ✽

The pastor's loud, enthusiastic voice radiates throughout the small church as if spoken through a megaphone. Harry's parents are listening to him preach with interest, as usual, but Harry quickly becomes distracted. He can never pay attention to Biblical discussions for more than few minutes. He finds it all very contradictory and repetitive.

Harry busies himself by counting the number of red tiles in the mosaic floor beneath his feet. Thirty-six. As much as he dislikes going to church every Sunday, he can't deny how beautiful the architecture is. The church is one of Crieghton's oldest buildings, having been built in the late 1890's, and has endured countless renovations and constant maintenance to keep it in this condition. The old shiplap walls were recently coated in a fresh layer of white paint, and the stained glass windows are still as vibrant as the day they were first fused together.

Suddenly, while lost in his thoughts, he feels a soft hand touch his shoulder. He looks over to see Craig sitting next to him, smiling with his perfectly white teeth. Harry's heart skips.

"Hey," Craig whispers quietly, leaning closer to him.

Harry's mouth feels dry. "Hi."

Craig smiles smugly before leaning back in his seat to listen to his father's sermon. Harry vaguely pays attention and admires Craig in his peripheral vision. The sunlight streaming through the nearby window illuminates his blond hair, making him look like a real life angel. Harry thinks he puts all the painted angels on the church's mural to shame.  

Pastor David glances down at his Bible on the pulpit. There's distinct frown lines creased into his forehead. His pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before reading.

"'And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us,'" he reads aloud. 

He clears his throat before continuing the discussion. He talks about holding hope and faith in God, even through times of adversity. But Harry can barely pay attention after Craig reaches over to brush his hand over his knuckles, ever so subtly, and keeps it there. His thumb rubs over the edge of his palm. 

Harry glances over and gives him a small smile. Growing up in Creighton, he always thought he was alone and could never be himself. He never imagined that Craig of all people— the pastor's own son and his childhood friend— would turn out to be just like him. It makes his head spin in circles in the best way possible. 

After the service, when their hands finally untangle, Harry's parents depart to go talk with Pastor David, as per usual. Craig immediately grabs Harry's elbow and leads him outside. He guides him behind the church, where the weeds are growing knee-length, and presses his palms against Harry's chest. They're just out of view of the parking lot, which both makes Harry nervous and excited at the same time. Craig pushes his back against the brick building and kisses him. 

Harry kisses him back and laces his fingers through Craig's hair. Craig smiles against his lips and presses his tongue against the barrier of Harry's mouth. Harry submits and lets him trail his kisses down the column of his throat. He shivers beneath his touch.

"Wait," Harry hesitates, bracing his hands on Craig's hips. "What if someone sees us?"

Craig pulls back and smirks. He looks around them and sees nothing but dense trees and mountains in the distance. Apart from Harry's parents, most of the congregation has already left the church. 

"Who's going to see us? A squirrel?" he teases.

Harry shrugs sheepishly and brushes a few stray curls out of his eyes. He nervously watches the cars driving down the road nearby, passing them in a blur of color.

"I just... my parents can't find out about this, Craig."

"And neither can my dad," Craig agrees. "I think he might actually kill me if he knew."

Harry swallows hard. "Mine too. Or at least disown me forever."

Craig frowns sympathetically and pecks his lips again. "But we won't let that happen, okay? We're just having fun. Nothing serious."

"Right," Harry says, kissing him again. "Nothing serious."

  ✽ ✽ ✽  

Loud music plays through the speakers of Harry's car as he drives down the gravel road, windows rolled down. A cloud of dirt trails behind him. Maria taps her foot against the floor to the beat of the music and lets her arm hang out the window, wind brushing through her fingers. Her dark hair with red highlights flows in the breeze. The late afternoon sunlight makes her bronze skin glow.

Her favorite Saturday Night Fever cassette is popped in the audio player. She keeps an entire stack of cassettes in Harry's car under the passenger seat. Her nails are now painted black, and she's wearing one of her favorite concert tour t-shirts. A pair of leather combat boots covers her feet.

Harry easily pulls into Maria's paved driveway. She lives on the opposite side of Creighton in a trailer park with her large family. She has three brothers and two sisters, all confined to a three bedroom house with their parents. Harry envies her for the relationship she has with her family. Ever since he became friends with Maria, her parents have been nothing but kind, inviting, and sweet to Harry. 

"Thanks for the ride," Maria says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. 

"I drive you home every day after school, Mar. You don't have to keep thanking me."

"Still," Maria laughs, teasingly ruffling her hands through Harry's curls. "You're the best!"

She winks and closes the door. Harry waves at her through the window and watches her walk up the stairs to her front porch. Afterwards, he drives across town to his own neighborhood, bopping his head along to the cassette. As much as he hates to admit it, he does like her music taste and usually comes with her to rock concerts in Salt Lake City, which is an hour-long drive south of Creighton. 

Harry backs out of her driveway and heads to the opposite side of town towards his own neighborhood. He parks in the garage next to his father's teal Chevy pickup truck and walks inside. When he arrives home every day after school, he usually finds his mother prepping for dinner in the kitchen and his father working on paperwork in his office. His parents are never too fond of deviating from their everyday routine. 

When he steps inside, however, he doesn't hear the usual distant clicking of his dad's typewriter and the sound of dishes clanging together in the kitchen. It's silent. He hangs up his backpack on the hook in the wall and squints with confusion, cautiously walking through the quiet house. 

"Hello?" he calls out, but nobody answers. 

He walks down the short hallway and enters his bedroom. The sight in front of him deprives his lungs of air. All of his belongings are packed up in cardboard boxes, stacked near to the ceiling. His room is a shell of its former self. The only evidence of his personality left are the Star Wars stickers on his door. His jaw drops.

"Mom? Dad?" he shouts with confusion, backing out of his room. 

He immediately walks into the dining room and finds them sitting at the table, blank stares on their faces. His mother's eyes are rimmed with red, and her cheeks are wet. She'd been crying.

"I— what's going on? What happened to my room?" he asks frantically.

His father, Victor, stares at him with furrowed brows. "You need to leave, son."

Harry falters. His heart thuds heavily in his chest. "What?"

"You can't live in this house anymore," his mother explains, hands folded on the table.

Harry's eyes start to water. "I don't understand," he says, voice cracking. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Judith clears her throat. "Do you know Mrs. Langston?"

Harry blinks a few times in silence. "From church?"

"Yes. She saw something... interesting after the service yesterday behind the church, and she informed Pastor David."

Harry feels like he might pass out. The room is spinning. He sits on the chair opposite from his parents, tears already cascading down his flushed cheeks.

"It's not what you think," Harry babbles. 

"We know what happened between you and Craig, Harry, and we won't allow it in this household. You know our family's morals. We will not have you living here while directly disobeying both us and God," Victor rambles sternly.

Harry's throat tightens. "You can't do this. I'm your son."

"Harry—"

"No!" Harry screams, standing up and pushing the chair away. It tumbles on the floor. "I'm your fucking son! You can't just kick me out!"

"Watch your language!" his mother scolds, pointing her finger angrily.

"This isn't fair! Where am I supposed to go?" Harry demands, angry wrinkles forming in his face.

Harry's father frowns. "You should've known the consequences of your actions."

"Bullshit! This isn't right and you both know it!"

"Enough!" Harry's father shouts, voice booming through the entire house. 

Harry recoils. He steps back and wipes away his tears with his sleeve. He feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. 

"Pastor David has decided to send Craig to a conversion treatment center downstate. Since you just turned eighteen, we can't legally force you to go. But if you want to continue living here, you'll have to admit yourself and get help. Otherwise, you're no longer welcome in our family."

Harry's breath is unsteady. "Are you kidding me?"

Victor shakes his head. "We wouldn't joke about this, son. The choice is yours."

He throws his hands in the air. "Well I'm not fucking going! I don't need help!"

Judith wipes her tears with a tissue. "Pack your things in your car, Harry."

Harry tilts his head at her with disbelief. "Mom—"

"I'm serious, Harry," she insists. "You need to leave."

Harry shakes his head and laughs bitterly. "You two should be ashamed of yourselves," he scolds. 

He storms into his room and grabs the large box labeled 'clothes.' He doesn't need anything else. He walks out of the house, making sure to slam the door behind him, and tosses the box in the passenger seat of his car. With tears clouding his vision, he starts the engine and quickly backs out of the driveway, leaving his home forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the names of Harry's parents in this book because their characters are not good people, and I don't want them to be associated with Anne/Robin/Des.


End file.
